


Lemon, Salt, and Lavender

by sitabethel



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Atem x Thief King x Malik, M/M, Mild Blood, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 05:10:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11730165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitabethel/pseuds/sitabethel
Summary: Lemon juice sets the scars, salt heals the wound, lavender restores the skin...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Atem goes through a (willing) scarification ritual in chapter three. There's mile mention of blood. 
> 
> This fic was commissioned by millennial-ring on Tumblr, so if you love it, you can thank them!

Three thousand years of existing and this was somehow the most awkward hour of Bakura's life. Having returned, he felt a compulsive need to visit his old host. It wasn't the sort of urge to be ignored. It wasn't like hunger, where you could let your stomach growl and suffer through it for a few more hours. No, it was more like a sneeze; quick, violent, autonomous.

He didn't even know Ryou was living with Yugi until he saw Atem walking up to the door at the same time. They exchanged hateful glares at each other, but neither spoke. They understood why the other was there. They understood that there was no avoiding it, so they turned their attention to the door and tried to ignore each other.

After that, it was an hour of awkward small talk and avoided glances between all four of them. Bakura saw that they were a couple right away, but he didn't think Atem figured it out until Yugi and Ryou shared some private joke between them and, in the midst of their two-party giggle fit, Yugi leaned over and kissed Ryou on the cheek.

There are some things a man can't even wish on his worst enemy, and the glint of pure heartbreak Bakura caught in Atem's eyes was truly one of them. Bakura couldn't take it. Everything felt wrong. It wasn't supposed to _be_ like this. He knew Ryou wasn't his host anymore, knew he'd never had a right to the body he'd stolen, but still… it felt like betrayal, that Ryou was with Yugi. It felt like betrayal. And if it hurt Bakura, who never allowed himself to get close, then he couldn't imagine how Atem sat there and smiled like the four of them were old friends. Bakura couldn't take it, and he wanted to get the fuck out of there.

“Hey, it's time for us to go.” Bakura smacked Atem's shoulder, trying his best to play it off as buddy-buddy and not just a fun excuse to smack him.

“What?” Atem asked.

“Don't go, stay,” Yugi begged, and as far as Bakura could tell, the damn brat really didn't understand how cruel he was being trying to keep Atem there. “We could watch a movie? Or go somewhere?”

“Let's go out for dinner,” Ryou suggested. 

“Next time. This asshole owes me a rematch.” Bakura stood up.

“Bakura, what are you-”

“Don't act like you don't remember accepting my duel monsters challenge!” Bakura shouted. “This time, I'm finally going to kick your ass.”

“Oh, let's all play.” Yugi beamed at the thought. “It'd be so nice to play for fun without Shadow Magic.” 

“Next time,” Bakura snapped, losing patience with Yugi’s oblivious hospitality. “This is a duel between enemies. I don't want any of your friendship nonsense ruining the intensity.” 

“Yeah, I don't know about that.” Atem scratched his shoulder out of some nervous habit that a pharaoh probably shouldn’t have. “But I did promise him a game, so we really should go.” 

“But you'll come back, right?” Yugi asked, a slight tremor of fear in his voice. “I've missed you, and you're back now, and-”

“Of course.” Atem gave Yugi a sad smile. “Of course I'll come back, aibou. We'll have an entire gaming night next time.” 

Yugi looked relieved, and then he hugged them each in turn. Ryou did not. Bakura understood. 

They escaped the dreaded apartment and shut the door, staring at it like plane crash survivors would stare at the wreckage.

“I need a beer,” Atem said. “I- that was awful- I need a beer.” He turned to Bakura. “Do you want a beer?” 

Bakura watched the door for three more seconds, as if something would change if he kept looking at the painted wood. He glanced at Atem out of the corner of his eye.

“Why the fuck not?” 

“R-really?” Atem looked snake-bit.

“I’ve had hour-long walks in the desert without food or water that were less painful that what just happened. Let's get drunk.” 

“That's the best plan you've ever had.” Another sad smile flashed on his face. “You sort of rescued me back there… thank you.” 

“You can thank me by buying the beer.” Bakura winked and shot Atem with his finger. 

He was just being his usual smartass self, he hadn't meant to cheer up Atem, but for a moment the smile on Atem's face became real. They walked down the hall, keeping their distance from each other. With each step the silence accumulated, until it crushed Bakura's chest. He wracked his brain for something to say, but this was the Pharaoh, his millennia-old nemesis, and Bakura had no clue what they could possibly talk about.

“Where are you going?” Bakura reached for the elevator button, but noticed Atem walking away.

“I'm just going to take the stairs- to clear my thoughts for a moment. Go ahead. I'll catch up.” 

Bakura watched Atem vanish into the stairwell. He crept up to the door and pressed his ear to it. Sobs echoed through the barrier between them, and Bakura sighed. He opened the door and stepped into the stairwell. 

“Go.” Atem shook his head as he shoved Bakura back towards the door. “I don’t need your sarcasm right now.” 

“Damn, Atem, you’re not even drunk yet.” 

Bakura didn’t go. He stood there and watched Atem cry. It should have been a joy to watch. His laughter should have echoed down the stairs, but Bakura just felt… like he understood, like maybe he’d do the same thing if his tears didn’t burn up the night his entire life turned to ash. 

“Go! Go! Go!” Atem shouted, punching Bakura’s chest with each syllable. Great, thudding punches that would bruise Bakura’s chest, but he stayed and stared at Atem, refusing to take a single step towards the door. “Go! Asshole! I told you I’d catch up!”

Atem finished his fit and crashed into Bakura’s chest. His tears were hot against Bakura’s collarbone. Bakura wanted to push Atem down the stairs and tell him to quit being a crybaby. He wanted Atem to deal with the pain like Bakura always had- holding it in like a breath until it burned. How dare Atem cry. How dare he cling to his enemy and be _weak_. 

But it felt good. Atem’s weight pressed into Bakura’s chest felt good. Atem’s arms hooked around Bakura’s shoulders felt good. Bakura understood the lost, aimless, rejected feeling that Atem felt. Instead of pushing Atem down the stairs like he wanted to, Bakura pulled Atem closer to his chest, and leaned back against the wall, and waited for Atem’s tears to settle. 

“I want to go back into the Puzzle.” Bakura’s cotton tank top muffled Atem’s words. “Why did the gods _do_ this? I only spent 16 years in a body, and 3,000 in the Puzzle. This hurts. _This hurts_. I hate it.”

“I know,” Bakura said. 

“My first day back I had an uncomfortable feeling. It got worse and worse, and I didn’t know what was wrong- I had to pee! I felt so stupid. Who forgets what it feels like to have to take a piss?” 

“I waited too long to eat, and then I felt like I was dying and ate until I threw up.” Bakura remembered the first week, having to relearn everything like a baby in a man’s body. Basic, stupid things, and it was maddening to feel that incompetent.

His fingers found their way into Atem’s hair. He distracted himself from his thoughts by toying with the palm-fronds of magenta and black. 

He didn’t want to think about it, but Atem was right. Bakura missed the Ring. Hell, he even missed Zorc controlling him to some extent. It was so easy when his existence was numb, and distant, and automatic. Now he felt everything, after thousands of years he felt it all and it was all far, far too much. 

They stayed where they were, two ghosts haunting the stairwell of their former vessels’ apartment building. Bakura couldn’t find an excuse to move, so they didn’t until Atem pushed away. 

“Gods, look at me. I’m pathetic.” 

“Sure.” Bakura laughed. It was too tempting to pass up teasing the Pharaoh. 

“Weren’t we supposed to get a beer?” Atem started walking down the stairs. 

“No less than three. No matter how bad it tastes compared to what we’re used to.” Bakura followed him. 

Atem hummed in agreement. He glanced at Bakura. “You’re the only one that understands that. There’s so many things- _the_ _sky is dim.”_

“Smog. Jet trails.” Bakura shrugged. 

“Yes, but they don’t understand because they don’t remember how _bright_ it used to be.”

“Of course they don’t.” 

“Constantly comparing one life to another is like going mad, always being in two places at once, thousands of years apart.” Atem shook his head as they exited the stairwell and then the apartment building. 

“I just try to not think about the past,” Bakura said as he walked down the street. 

“How can you _not_ though? It’s all I ever think about when I’m alone.”

This was true for Bakura as well, and, unlike Atem, Bakura was always alone. And it was a sort of madness. Sometimes he woke up and thought he was the Thief King, and then realized that the old Egyptian thief never had a bed or air conditioning and reality felt like it was melting as Bakura tried to reconcile the _then_ and the _now_. 

“I know why the gods put me through this. It makes a fitting punishment,” Bakura said, “but why you? You crossed over. Why did you come back?” 

“I don’t remember. I just appeared on the streets like you did.” Atem stopped and pointed to a bar down the street. “How about there?” 

Bakura shrugged. One dive was as good as another. He just wanted to sit somewhere loud and crowded and get buzzed enough not to think for a few minutes. The inside of the building was dark. Lamps hung from each table, but the lights only illuminated a small circle in the center of each table. The rest of the room stayed dark. Bakura nodded in approval. He wanted to hide, hide from himself, and the dark felt right for that. They found a table in a corner and Atem shouted for two beers. Bakura drew on the tabletop as they waited. 

“Are you going to go back and play games?” Atem asked.

“Huh?”

“With Yugi and Ryou. They wanted us to go back.”

“They wanted _you_ to go back. Not me.”

“It’d be easier if you were there.” Atem’s fingers slid across the laminated surface, touching the very edge of the light and pausing as if they were afraid to breech fully into the glow in the center of the table. 

“You’re pretty desperate if you want my company.” Bakura chuckled. 

“I suppose I am,” Atem agreed. 

Their beer came, and Bakura chugged half of his with his first drink. He fucking needed it. He was sitting in a bar with the Pharaoh. He was in his old, human body- devoid of all his powers- still angry and full of hatred, but now doubting its direction because of how Zorc had twisted his mind- hardly able to differentiate between past and present- and sitting in a bar drinking beer with the Pharaoh. His own desperation for company shamed him, but he prefered Atem in a dark bar to going back and having to look at the white knot of scar tissue on Ryou’s hand. Bakura had his own scars, just about anywhere a person could imagine was scarred on his body, but none of his scars bothered him- Ryou’s did. 

“What are you thinking about? I’m not used to you being quiet.” Atem watched him. 

Bakura looked in his eyes, searching for suspicion. All he saw was curiosity. “I’ve been having inconvenient bouts of… guilt, I suppose. Humanity doesn’t become me.” 

“I agree. We look better in gold than cloth.”

“Sounds like a fetish, when you say it like that.” Bakura downed the rest of his beer.

“You know what I meant.” Atem finished his own beer and signaled for two more. 

They nursed the second round. Bakura felt the slight hum in his brain that came with _just enough_ alcohol. 

“What was your favorite Penalty Game?” Atem asked as he took a swallow. 

“What?” Bakura asked. “Is that like some sick test to see how fucked up I am?”

“No.” Even in the dim light and even with his almond complexion, Bakura swore Atem was blushing. “I just… I was thinking of the time I played air hockey on a hot griddle with a spatula and an ice puck holding a chemical that exploded when it hit the heat.”

“That is Marik’s-Other-Half level fucked up, you know that, right?”

“It made me wish this bar had an air hockey table- I mean for a normal game. It was fun. The game part, the game part was fun. Air hockey would be fun,” Atem rambled. 

“No, no, let’s go back to how you blew a motherfucker up, but everyone acts like you’re the goddamn hero of the day, while I made a few creative dolls but _I’m_ an asshole?” 

“That’s different,” Atem said.

“Pray tell, how?”

“We didn’t do anything wrong to _deserve_ it.”

“My village-”

“Was destroyed by Aknadin. My father had nothing to do with it- he died from grief when he found out.” Atem clutched his empty beer bottle, knuckles white-capped. “And I didn’t _know_.” 

“I _told you_ ,” Bakura hissed. 

“You dragged my father’s desecrated corpse into the castle and started laughing and screaming. How was that supposed to get me to listen to you?” Atem released the bottle to toss his hands into the air. The bottle went off balance, wobbling, wobbling, wobbling, wobbling, before setting back in place. 

“Atem. You. Fucking. Listen. To. Me.” Bakura pushed his own bottles away so he could lean forward. “I was showing you what it felt like. I was _showing you what I was going through_.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Items,” Bakura snarled. “Remember? My village? My _family_? _Melted_. Worn. By you. Not Items. _Not Items_. Family. Worn and _owned_ by the royals that shirked their responsibility for the tragedy.”

“Oh gods.” Atem paled and his eyes rounded in sudden, stark comprehension. “Oh gods, Bakura… dear gods. I forget that the Items were… dear gods, Bakura...” 

“Finally.” Atem’s expression of horror caused a heavy sigh to rush from Bakura’s lungs. “Took you three thousand years, but I finally got the fucking point across. Who knew beer was the fucking answer all this time?” 

“Bakura, I-”

“Shut-up and buy me another round. It’s been a rough enough day on its own. I don’t need 99 more reasons to freak the fuck out.” 

When the last beer arrived, Bakura sucked it down without stopping. He exhaled and closed his eyes, leaning back. He listened the the garble of voices all around them, and busy sounds of glasses clinking, and bad karaoke, and shouts for specific drinks. 

“I’m sorry,” Atem apologized

“I should go home,” Bakura muttered to himself. He wanted to convince himself that he wanted to go home and not sit and talk- especially because it was Atem- but maybe this conversation was three thousand years past due. 

“Weren’t we going to play Duel Monsters?” Atem asked.

“No. That was to get you away from Yugi so you didn’t have to put on a brave face as he sat there and ate your heart.” Bakura sat up. His gaze caught Atem, and he couldn’t look away. 

“I thought it was a genuine offer for a card game.” Atem winked, grinning his usual smug grin.

“Pshhh, yeah, guess I can kick your ass a few times.” Bakura knew he shouldn’t indulge Atem. They shouldn’t go play cards like buddies. They should smash their beer bottles to make shivs, and stab each other, and see if the loser stayed dead or if the gods were set on keeping them on earth forever.

“Yeah right, since when have you ever kicked my ass in any game?”

“Since I got a few beers into you. Maybe you’ll play worse buzzed.”

“You’re buzzed, too.”

“Then it’ll be a fair game.” Bakura waved his hand as he stood up. 

They took a train to Bakura’s apartment. It was small, but decent, though scattered with bean bag chairs, body pillows, rugs, and cushions instead of traditional furniture. Bakura saw no reason to follow social norms when it came to what he sat and slept on. 

“It’s nice.” Atem’s eyes scanned around. “How did you get enough money to afford it? Yugi gave me a percent of his tournament money, since we played together so often, but otherwise I would have been struggling.”

“It’s possible that Ishizu Ishtar was willing to pay a nice sum of money for the location of some… misplaced treasures from certain tombs.” 

“Figures you’d do something like that.”

“It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. I got enough money to get my life together without resorting to new crimes, and Egypt regained some priceless artifacts.” 

Bakura fetched his cards and they lounged on cushions. It was a lazy game, both of them mellowed by the three beers. Bakura was tempted to break out the wine he had stashed in the fridge. His thoughts were heavy and thick, like mud made of his own memories instead of dirt. He’d rather be dizzy and giggling and drunkenly numb. 

“Bakura?” Atem asked after ending his turn.

“Hmmm?” Bakura drew a card. It was a decent trap and he didn’t have much defense out, so he put it face down and ended his own turn. 

“Do you think, if I hadn’t been the Pharaoh’s son, that maybe we could have been friends?” 

“If you’d been my friend, you would have gotten murdered, melted, and cast into that Puzzle you so wish to return to.” Bakura’s answer had been bitter and instant and awful, a cheap cup of off-brand coffee. He regretted the words as soon as he spoke them because he _knew_ what Atem meant, but habit was a mistress he’d always been loyal to, and changing his stripes wasn’t an easy thing to imagine, let alone attempt. 

“I meant… in another world.” Atem sighed. “In another world, could we have been friends?” 

“Sure, I guess.” Bakura snorted. The question made him ache, because when he thought of it, he thought maybe they _could_ _have been_. “I mean, we both like games and we’re both egotistical assholes. We probably would have ended up as rivals or lovers.” 

“Do you think maybe we could be now?” Atem started at his own words and raised up his hands. “I meant friends! I really meant friends! It sounded wrong because of what you just said, but I was only thinking about friendship.” 

“Oh?” Bakura smirked. “You didn’t mean rivals? I mean, Seto might get jealous if I became your closest, most intimate rival.”

“Stop teasing.” Atem looked away. 

Bakura smirked, seeing an opportunity to win their game after all. He started setting up his cards to attack, placing two spells face down and summoning another monster that he could tribute. 

“No, no, let’s explore this scenario. Maybe you really meant lovers? Is that why you asked me out to get a drink? You’re wondering what it’s like to mingle between the sheets with the commoners?”

“I felt shellshocked, _that’s_ why I asked you out- no not out, but to get a beer. You know what I mean, stop teasing me.”

“Atem.” Bakura grinned when it was his turn again, tapping his cards with his pointer finger.

Atem looked down, noticing what Bakura was attacking with and the magic he’d added to increase his monster’s attack. 

“Fuck. I lost.” Atem set down his hand and dropped back into a pile of pillows. “That was a dirty trick, Bakura.”

“I assumed you’d be on your guard while playing me.”

“I’ve never even been _kissed_ before.”

“So what? I’ve only been kissed once. You and I were too busy for that sort of thing- saving and destroying the world respectively.” 

“What was it like?”

“Trying to destroy the world?”

“The kiss, you jerk.” 

Bakura smiled at the memory. “Soft.”

“That’s...not what I expected you to say.” Atem glanced at him. 

“Yeah, well… surprise.” 

Bakura dropped down onto several other pillows. He was too close to Atem, practically laying beside him, but Bakura realized he didn’t really mind. He’d just won his first card game against the Pharaoh, and a hint of alcohol still danced in his system- although he wished it was more so he’d care even less about the heat he could feel radiating from Atem’s body. 

“Stupid Marik,” Bakura whispered as he stared at the ceiling and wondered what the tomb-keeper was up to. 

“It was Marik?” Atem shouted, turning his head to stare at Bakura.

“Why do you sound so damn shocked?” Bakura furrowed his brow. “Do you think Marik’s out of my league? Is a thief not good enough?” 

“I can’t imagine Marik kissing softly.” 

The statement was so simple and earnest that Bakura laughed until his stomach hurt. He clutched at it, and rolled onto his side a little, so he could face Atem. 

“I don’t think he meant to,” Bakura explained. “It was Battle City. He asked me to help him fight his dark half right after Ishizu explained Marik’s backstory to your group. Until then, Marik didn’t realize _he’d_ killed his old man, but he heard Ishizu’s story through Anzu.” Bakura shrugged. “Marik went from infallible to feeling like everything wrong in his life was his own fault and he broke down, so…” Bakura shook the memory away. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

“I think I would believe you,” Atem spoke in a quiet voice. “Your eyes are glassy.” 

“When I put on the Ring, my thoughts grew… dark. I’m not explaining it right. They didn’t get worse, they didn’t really change, but… it was all _darker_. It was like Zorc wrapped around my ba and blindfolded me, but at that moment…” Bakura swallowed. “The veil lifted. It was only a moment, but it was like I was looking at light for the first time in three thousand years, and Marik was that light, so I rested my hand on his cheek and promised to help.” 

A sad, disbelieving laugh escaped Bakura. “For nothing. Helping Marik was going to screw me. I’d either end up in the Shadows, or destroying your memories carved into his back which were needed to complete my goals, but I didn’t care. I was going to help him anyway, and I think it surprised him as much as it did me, because that’s when he leaned in.” Bakura shook his head again. “He didn’t even have his body, and I was in a stolen one, but… I felt it. I hardly felt anything through Ryou’s skin, not properly, but I felt Marik’s lips, and they were soft.” 

“That’s… wow.” Atem gasped, and amazed smile lit up his face. “Wow. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Shut up.” Bakura turned back towards the ceiling, ignoring the burning in his cheeks. 

“Why are you acting like I insulted you? I no longer have a crown, but if I did, I’d trade it for a moment like that.”

“If you still had a crown, I would have stolen it by now.” Bakura turned back to him and winked.

“Maybe you can think of something else to steal.” Atem smiled, lowering his eyelids. 

Bakura’s breathing stopped a moment as he looked at Atem. Threads of flaxen hair fell into his face, he didn’t look smug or haughty, just hopeful and yearning, and when Bakura realized exactly _what_ Atem was yearning for, his stomach hitched. Bakura reached up his hand, hovering it right above Atem’s jaw line, almost pulling away, but succumbing at the last second and caressing Atem’s smooth, warm skin. 

Atem’s eyes fluttered shut. His lips parted in a silent gasp at the faint touch. Bakura leaned closer, one thousand images stabbing through his mind at once; fire, a sarcophagus, bodies dropping to the ground and being dragged to a cauldron, Mahad’s corpse, melted gold pouring into a mold, dead palace guards, seven golden relics, Atem bruised and filthy from battle, the way the light had caught Marik’s earring when he leaned in to kiss Bakura. 

None of those memories stopped him. In fact, they spurred him closer, closer, and Atem’s tongue was wet and warm against his own as their lips brushed together. One kiss blossomed into two and then three and then Bakura lost count. The screams of the past hushed as the present moment absorbed Bakura’s senses. He felt his heart pound, heard their gasps for breath between each kiss, tasted Atem’s saliva on his tongue, smelled the lemongrass and coriander undertones in Atem’s cologne. Bakura slit his eyes open, wanting to see Atem’s face. He jerked back when he noticed the shine of tears on Atem’s cheek. 

“Should I not have?” Bakura’s gut dropped at the thought. He’d be sure Atem had _wanted to be kissed._

“Are you going to mock me afterward?” Atem wiped his cheek. “Go brag that you fucked the Pharaoh and leave me alone?”

“You really think I’m a monster, don’t you?” Bakura snorted, but he turned his head away. “Don’t answer that.” 

“Don’t treat this like a game,” Atem begged, wiping his face again. “Don’t try to win. I can’t stand anymore pain.” Atem gave up drying his face and turned against the cushion below him.

“Yeah? Fuck you!” Bakura screamed, twisting on his hands and knees so he could get into Atem’s personal space. “Maybe I can’t either!”

His eyes burned. Bakura jerked back, realizing what was happening too late to stop it and having to use his sleeve to smear the searing tears out of his eyelashes. 

“Bakura.” Atem pushed up onto his knees and cupped Bakura’s face. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” 

“Then I won’t hurt you,” Bakura whispered. 

They held each other’s faces as if they’d lose each other to the void if they let go. There was a desperate, rushed quality to each kiss. Their hands shook, and each gasp sounded both pained and pleasured. Bakura stood and scooped Atem up in his arms, carrying him back to his bedroom where more cushions and pillows waited for them, softer ones. 

Bakura laid Atem down into the cushions and grabbed a bottle of lube he kept in a chest, but set it aside for later. He slipped out of his own clothes and disrobed Atem. Their fingers mapped out each other’s bodies. 

“What’s this one from?” Atem’s finger sank into a pit of scar tissue in Bakura’s shoulder.

“Arrow.”

“And this one?”

“Spear wound from one of your own guards.”

“And this one?”

“Trap.”

“I thought you were too good to get caught in traps?” 

“I was nine.”

“Nine?” 

“Had to eat.”

Atem sighed in exasperation and started kissing every single scar on Bakura’s body. Bakura shivered, at the touch, at what they were doing, at what it meant, at how much he _wanted it_. He wanted it. He wanted it. Atem was an idiot, and kissing the old wounds wouldn’t heal them, but Bakura held his breath in anticipation for each new kiss. Bakura arched when Atem reached the scars along his thighs, but tried to pull away when the former Pharaoh grabbed Bakura’s foot. Atem held Bakura’s foot again, and kissed even the little scars carved into his ankles by miles and miles of walking down roads full of sharp stones.

Atem had no scars for Bakura to kiss, so when he flipped their positions, Bakura could only think to kiss his neck and face. They began rocking against each other, slow and deep. Atem spread his slender legs and Bakura guided his cock up against Atem’s entrance. He only grazed the puckered skin, teasing, and teasing, and teasing, until he could feel Atem relax each time their skin touched and trying to open up against the teasing prods of his cockhead. 

Only then did Bakura grab the lube, when Atem’s entire body shuddered with want and felt relaxed. After both his cock and Atem’s asshole were shining with gel, he returned to slow, teasing prods that always suggested, but never pushed. Finally Atem wrapped a leg around Bakura’s waist and used it to urge him deeper. 

Bakura added more force, feeling Atem’s body resist, then yield, and consume. Bakura threw his head back, gasping like his was drowning in the heat of Atem’s body. He added more lube to be on the safe side and slide out and back in. Bakura eased into a deliberate pattern. He held his breath, checking Atem’s face. His hair against the pillow reminded Bakura of fireworks exploding in the night sky and each bead of sweat rolling down the side of Atem’s face was a glittering, shooting star. Atem clung to Bakura’s biceps and arched into each and every thrust. 

The sight of Atem, the pleasure twisting in his expression, made Bakura’s cock twitch. He felt himself drawing close far too soon, and damn if he was going to prematurely ejaculate into the Pharaoh of all people. Bakura closed his eyes, shifted to his forearm, and grabbed Atem’s cock so he could stroke the Pharaoh. Bakura tried to think about his strokes, keeping his own pleasure from consuming him in order to last long enough for Atem to finish. Helpless little _ahs_ left Atem’s mouth with each exhale. The muscles in his chest grew tight and he kept his back up in a strong arch. 

“Osiris,” Atem gasped. “Set- Ra- Thoth- Sobek- Khonsu- Min! Min! Min!”

Bakura felt Atem’s cock pumping as he came, and Bakura thanked the gods because with each one Atem called out, his own stomach hitched and trembled in ecstasy. By the time Atem reached Min, Bakura was screaming in orgasm. Only a moment later, Bakura found himself spooning against Atem. 

“This won’t work.” Bakura shook his head. 

“What? Us?” Atem flinched. 

“Don’t panic. I meant your hair.” Bakura blew strays out of his face. “It’s tickling my fucking nose. You be the big spoon.” 

“Don’t fucking scare me like that.” Atem snorted as they changed positions. 

“I didn’t even mean to that time!”

There was silence for a moment, and then Atem’s voice. “Bakura?”

“Hmmm?”

“We… really just did this.”

“Guess so.”

“Are we _really_ going to do this?” 

“I guess?” 

“I can't believe we’re doing this.” Atem laughed, pressing his forehead against the nape of Bakura’s neck. 


	2. Chapter 2

Rishid had let it slip that a certain tomb robber had returned to the world and extorted some money from the Egyptian government. Marik had the address and a plane ticket in his hand moments later, and now he was walking up to a door and preparing to knock. He paused a moment, listening to the shouting on the other side. The term _stubborn asshole_ was being thrown around an awful lot, so Marik figured Bakura was home and knocked. 

Marik flashed a wicked grin as the door swung open, expecting white hair, white skin, and garnet eyes to greet him. Instead he caught stiff peaks of onyx and magenta, fuchsia eyes, and almond skin. Marik stepped back, eyes wide. The Pharaoh did the same when he saw Marik. The humor of the moment wasn’t lost on the former tomb-keeper, but he was too confused to smirk. He noticed the Pharaoh was also short. _Short_. So much so that Marik felt a strange, inappropriate urge to lift him up. The surprise on Atem’s face cracked and shattered to a look of sorrow. 

“Are you okay?” Marik asked. He couldn’t help it. The agony, fear, helplessness, and sadness were so strong in Atem’s expression that Marik felt himself reaching out to rest his hand on Atem’s shoulder in order to comfort him. 

Before his hand touched, however, Atem bolted down the hallway. Someone else ran through the living room and out into the hall, screaming after the Pharaoh.

“Atem! Get your ass back here! Fucking asshole, you can’t run off without talking about this!” He growled and smashed his face against his palm. 

_This_ was Bakura, though not the Bakura Marik had expected. Regardless, Marik could tell it was Bakura by the hair, and the screaming, and who could forget that specific growl of frustration? 

“Hey, partner,” Marik said, noting that Bakura was also _much_ shorter. Marik would have teased him about it, but he was at least a little taller than the Pharaoh, and Marik had more interesting topic to mull over than height differences.

Bakura turned towards Marik. His smile was far warmer than Marik had ever imagined as well. Marik sighed as he realized that everything he thought he _knew_ about Bakura was wrong. Still, looking at the dark, scrappy version in front of him piqued Marik’s interest. First glances tended to be deceiving, but Marik already liked this version better than the shadowy spirit he used to know. 

“Hey.” Bakura gestured for them to go into the apartment instead of standing in the hallway. “I’d say you caught us at a bad time, but this is pretty normal.” 

“Tell me a story, Bakura.” Marik found the tallest mound of pillows and draped himself across it like a king himself. 

“I don’t know why we’re alive if that’s the story you want to hear.”

“Who cares about that?” Marik laughed. “How’d you two end up sleeping together? It's clear that you’re a couple, but I can't imagine _how_.” 

“By accident.”

“The term ‘accidental sex’ sounds pretty fake, Bakura.” 

“It wasn’t about that.” Bakura’s gaze wandered out into the room. “Couldn’t feel much in the Items. Haven’t had our own bodies in thousands of years. Everything feels _wrong_. It doesn’t feel real. A host feels real, but our hosts ended up together. Gold feels real, but the Items are buried. And this…” He looked down at his hands and frowned. 

“I understand.” Marik gave Bakura an empathetic nod.

“I don’t think anyone else _could_ understand-”

“Maybe I don’t understand being alive for three thousand years, but I understand depersonalization and derealization. Remember? Dissociative disorder?” Marik gave a bitter snort as a flash of anger from his childhood flared up in his chest. 

“They have _names for when you feel like this_?” 

“It’s more common than you think.” Marik shook his head. “I mean, considering everything you two went through, especially at the end before you both died, it’s not surprising that you’d have those symptoms. Add in the fact that your souls were trapped in the Items for all those years, I’m really amazed at how _stable_ you seem.”

“Never heard anyone describe me as stable.” Bakura laughed. His face lit up when he laughed, and curved his scar on his cheek. Marik smiled as he watched Bakura’s face. 

“It’s amazing, seeing you like this.”

“In my own body?” Bakura asked.

“Expressive. Your old range went from bitter, to sarcastic, to manic, and that was about it. We’ve only been talking for ten minutes, but I’ve seen you smile twice, real smiles and not sardonic ones.” 

“Whatever.” Bakura snorted, and shrugged, and stared at his knees to avoid looking at Marik. “Hey, Marik?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think…” Bakura’s brow furrowed. “Maybe you could explain that stuff to Atem? The, what was it? Derealization stuff? I think it’d soothe his mind to know that other people do it.” 

“No problem.” Marik pursed his lips. “When he saw me, he looked like he was about to cry, what were you two fighting about?”

“Yugi.” Bakura fell back into his pillows. “He wants me to go over and play some new game with our old hosts, but I’m trying to stay away from everyone.” Bakura turned away. “He doesn’t get how everyone’s better off without me. Fuck, _he’d_ be better off without me, and so are you.”

“You used to be so fucking full of yourself.” Marik shifted so he could press his hands on Bakura’s chest and lower himself just above Bakura’s face. “And now you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’ve changed. It only takes fives minutes to see that. Maybe he’s not better off without you, and maybe I’m not either.”

Bakura’s eyes unfocused. Close up, Marik admired how handsome Bakura was in his new body. Ryou’s body had been a nice rental, but Bakura _owned_ this body. It was apparent on every revealing expression on his face and flourish of action in his hands or body. It all _fit_ him somehow, and Marik loved seeing it. He sank down, his lips almost brushing against Bakura’s before Bakura turned away. 

“I want to, but I can’t,” Bakura said. “Atem’s probably already freaking out because you’re here.”

“Because I’m here?” Marik asked, remembering the look on Atem’s face before he ran down the hall. 

“He has weird abandonment issues because of Yugi. I’m an asshole, but…” Bakura gave Marik a look, and Marik’s mouth dropped at the vulnerability he saw in Bakura’s eyes. “We promised we’d try not to hurt each other.” 

“Hmmm.” Marik licked his lips in thought. “The King of Egypt and the King of Thieves.” Marik couldn’t help but smirk. “I’ve never seduced a king before. I wonder what it’d be like to have two at the same time.” 

“Twice as amazing as one, I’d imagine.” Bakura grinned. 

“Is Atem the type to share?”

“I suppose we’ll have to ask and find out.” 

“This might be more fun over dinner.” Marik pushed himself up and grabbed his cellphone. “Do you guys have a favorite place?” 

“We cannot agree on food to save our lives.” Bakura rolled his eyes. “He likes falafel.” 

“What do you like?” 

“Dead animals.”

“I should have guessed. I honestly should have.” Marik shook his head and laughed as he googled restaurants that would deliver. He placed his order, getting falafel for himself and Atem, and kabobs for Bakura. He made himself comfortable as they waited for the food, looking around the apartment. “Don’t you own any real furniture?” 

“No.”

“Why not?” Marik asked. 

“Why should I?” Bakura answered. 

“What about when you have company over?”

“You’re the first person that’s actually visited.” Bakura shrugged. “I like the cushions. Everywhere is comfortable.” 

“Does your bedroom look like this?”

“Of course.”

“If we’re going to do this, I’m buying a bed.” 

“So, let me get this straight.” Bakura sat up so he could look at Marik. “You hear I’m back, so you just hop on a plane and fly to Japan, and after talking to me for half an hour, decide to move in with me and the fucking common enemy that got us working together in the first place?”

“This is neither the worse idea I’ve had, nor the most impulsive thing I’ve done in my life,” Marik said. 

“So what have you been doing with your life? I mean since I last saw you. You look good.”

“Do I?” Marik smiled. 

“Yes.” Bakura snorted. “But I meant you look well, like you’re taking care of yourself.”

“I mean really, that’s what I’ve been doing.” Marik rubbed his temple. “I’ve spent the last few years trying my damnedest to figure out how to be a functional adult.” Marik laughed at himself. “After the Ceremonial Duel Yugi fought with Atem, I was dumb enough to think it was going to be easy. Everything was over, right? No more need for tomb-keepers, no more underground, no more alter ego, everything should have been good.”

“But nothing felt real,” Bakura finished for Marik. 

“Exactly. It was like the more I realized everything was over, the less real everything felt.” Marik shook his head. “This is worse. This is fucking worse. At least in the tomb I was always in survival mode so I never had time to feel any of it, but now it’s like everything is catching up all at once and I’m reeling.”

“You really _do_ get it,” Bakura whispered. 

“Yes. I told you.” 

“Well? Does it get any better? Or are we all just fucked?” 

“Some days it feels like it’s getting better.” Marik shook his head. “Some days it feels like I’ll always be fucking broken, so your guess is as good as mine.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.” Marik snorted. 

Their food came and they set up a circle in Bakura’s nest of cushions to act like a dining area. 

“When will Atem be back?” Marik asked. 

“He’s usually back by now.” Bakura shook his head, frowning. 

“Can you text him? Tell him his fucking dinner is going to get cold.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Bakura toyed with his food for a good five minutes before pulling out his cellphone, but Atem walked in before he’d sent his message. Bakura looked up. “I was about to text you. Marik bought dinner.”

“Oh?” Atem asked, he sounded frail.

“Falafel.” Marik gestured to Atem’s container of food. “Bakura said that was your favorite.” 

“Yeah.” Atem strolled over to their circle and sat down with all the politeness and restraint that one may expect from a previous monarch. He didn’t eat, however, merely stared at the food. 

“I didn’t poison it.” Marik leaned over and stole one of the little patties. 

He ripped one in half and took a bite to prove his point, holding the other piece up to Atem’s lips. Atem gave Marik a wary look before taking his own bite from the other half. Marik smirked. He couldn’t help but think of how he had a king literally eating out of his hand at that moment. And for all Marik’s attempts at being a normal, functional human being, he couldn’t deny the power trip, or how appealing it was. He encouraged Atem to take another bite, giving the Pharaoh a seductive look while he watched him eat. The glazed, fascinated expression on Bakura’s face as he watched the scene only heighten the thrill of it all. 

After they split the first piece, Marik went back to his own food and permitted the Pharaoh to feed himself. 

“How was the game?” Bakura asked. 

“You’d know had you come and played.” 

“Why don’t they come over _here_ and play, then?” Bakura snapped back at Atem’s passive aggressive comment. 

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience them. It’s easier to go over there.”

“No, you’re afraid that they’ll say no, so you never ask them.” Bakura snorted, picking at his food. “Invite them over. If they come, I’ll play all the fucking games you want, but if they make an excuse then fuck the both of them, and you should just let them _go_.” 

“You don’t _test_ friendship, Bakura.”

“Why the fuck not? You’re not asking them to run a maze for your entertainment, just come over here for a game of Duel Monsters- or Monster World. If Ryou turns _that_ down, then I _promise_ you it’s because he specifically hates _me_.” 

“I don’t think he hates you, he’s just… concerned. He doesn’t realize you’re not the same.”

“What you’re really saying is that he thinks I’m up to something, they don’t trust me, and that I can’t even argue against it because why would they think any differently?”

Marik saw the hurt on Bakura’s face as he spoke, and again, Marik was amazed at how much Bakura’s emotions bled through his expressions. It made it hard not to lean over and kiss the frown off of his face, but Marik knew he had to play strategically if he wasn’t going to spook Atem- which Marik did _not_ want to do because it would clearly only serve to hurt Bakura further. 

“How’s the food?” Marik asked to change the subject. 

“It’s good,” Atem answered as if on autopilot. 

“Have you ever had Kushari?” Marik asked. 

“I don’t think so.” Atem shook his head.

“Bakura would hate it, but I think you might like it. Rishid’s recipe is the best. I’ll make it for you tomorrow.” 

“That’s … kind of you, Marik.” Atem looked nervous. “Are you spending the night then?” 

“I don’t want to be an inconvenience. I could get a hotel.” 

“No, that’s not necessary.” Atem shook his head. “No, of course you’re always welcome.” 

“Good,” Marik purred, “maybe we could find a game to play tonight.” 

“I’d like that.” A tentative, but sincere, smile appeared on Atem’s face. 

Marik sighed in relief when he saw it. He could see why Bakura acted delicately around Atem. It was unsettling for Marik to see just how fragile Atem had become. He remembered the confident, cocky spirit of the Puzzle that won every card game he played, and this shorter, prettier version was not the same person, though Marik was beginning to understand how Bakura found himself with Atem despite their former animosity. Something about Atem’s fragility made Marik feel fiercely protective over him already. Perhaps because Marik saw now, in a way he never could see when they were opponents, that Atem was as damaged and human as the rest of them. Marik took both of Atem’s hands.

“I had a talk with Bakura while you were gone, and he wanted me to explain derealization to you.” Marik gave Atem’s hands a reassuring squeeze and made sure Atem was keeping eye contact with Marik throughout the conversation. “Atem, you need to realize that you lost both your parents at a young age, and then the responsibility and stress of being both king and god to your people was suddenly yours, and after Bakura crashed into the palace-”

“That’s not really Bakura’s fault. I know what he was trying to-”

“Atem, believe me, I’m not vilifying Bakura.” Marik squeezed Atem’s hands again. “I respect what Bakura did, honestly, but that doesn’t change the psychological effects of that battle. You lost most of your priests, right? And they were family to you. And then you were betrayed by your uncle and had to sacrifice yourself to try to seal Zorc- and that was after Bakura died, so I’m not blaming Bakura, I’m saying you went through quite a lot before your death, and then you were trapped in the Puzzle.”

“Yeah.” Atem nodded. 

He tried to look away, but Marik gently guided his face back so that they kept eye contact. “It’s common, when people have to maintain a high stress level for prolonged amounts of time, that they start to feel like they’re in a dream. Maybe things seem blurry, or you feel detached, nothing seems real and time gets distorted- I’m sure existing for over three thousand years makes that last part even worse.” 

“Yeah,” Atem agreed again. 

“It’s called derealization. It’s common with people under too much stress, people that have anxiety or depression, and people…” Marik paused. Now _he_ wanted to look away, but he forced himself to hold Atem’s curious gaze. “And people like me that have dissociative disorders. I know it can be unpleasant, but Bakura thought you should know this is something a lot of people have to work through- you guys aren’t alone.” 

“So-” Atem pulled his hands away to wipe a tear off of his cheek, “-This is normal? To feel like this?”

“Considering everything you’ve been through? _Very normal_ ,” Marik said. 

“That’s… such a relief!” Atem pushed several more tears off of his face. “I thought the gods were punishing us.” 

“No Atem.” Marik wrapped his arms around him. 

Marik glanced up and saw Bakura watching them. He looked grateful, but a little overwhelmed. Marik grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him into the embrace. The three of them sat for a moment with their foreheads pressed together. It was strange, how free Marik felt at that moment. He was sure Rishid and Ishizu had similar problems, but they never talked about it with each other. How could they? They always smiled and put up a happy front for each other’s sake. So the fact that Marik could describe something that he’d been struggling with for years, and see understanding reflected in other people’s expressions, was a liberating experience. 

“Why don’t we skip games and just watch a movie instead?” Bakura suggested. 

“That sounds nice,” Atem said. 

“I’ll get a blanket.” Bakura stood up and wandered off to the back of the apartment. 

Marik kept Atem in his arms, pulling him down so that he lay reclined against Marik’s chest. Bakura returned, spread the blanket out on top of Marik and Atem, and then slipped under the cover with them. He grabbed a remote hidden somewhere in the hoard of pillows and turned on the wall-mounted tv, and then he lay on his side and swung his arm around Atem’s chest so he could hold both Atem and Marik at the same time. 

It wasn’t the seductive thrill that Marik had planned when he decided to invite himself into Bakura and Atem’s relationship, but Marik found he had no complaints while wrapped up with the other two. He didn’t pay much attention to the movie, but he did enjoy himself. 

“See? Comfortable.” Bakura snickered in Marik’s ear, referring to his nest. 

“Hmph, still buying a bed,” Marik said, forgetting that he hadn’t explained his intentions to Atem. 

“A bed?” Atem asked. 

“What would you say if I wanted to stay here for a little while?” Marik asked, toying with the different colors in Atem’s hair. 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Atem said.

“And if I wanted to stay a little longer after that?”

Atem paused for a moment. “Am I in the way?”

“How can you be in the way if you’re right where I put you?” Marik squeezed Atem, reminding him that he was in Marik’s arms. 

“Bakura?” Atem asked.

“I refuse to sleep in a western style bed,” Bakura ignored Atem’s questioning tone, instead arguing with Marik. “If I can’t keep my pillow harem, then we’re getting a low-lying futon.” 

“Well, I normally don’t compromise, but I do appreciate the older Japanese aesthetic, so I think I might accommodate you this one time. Besides, you can keep your stupid pillow nest here in the living room. I just want to redecorate the bedroom. I’m going to have at least one nice room in this apartment.” 

“Atem already converted the other room into a game room. Gods, every time I get another lover I lose a room in my own damn apartment. Who’s coming next to take over the kitchen?”

“So are we really doing _this_ now?” Atem twisted so that he could push himself up and stare at Bakura and Marik. 

“I guess?” Bakura shrugged with a little laugh. 

“It’s up to you,” Marik said, keeping his voice gentle so Atem didn’t feel pressured. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” 

Atem flushed. “Let’s try.” 

“You want to try right now?” Marik smirked. 

“Careful, Atem. Marik apparently has a king-bedding kink.”

“That was a joke!” Marik shouted, not wanting to admit how hot his cheeks were. 

“He specifically said that his greatest sexual fantasy ever was getting to know the wonders of the King of Thieves and the King of Egypt at the same time.” 

“I said _nothing_ of the sort.” 

“I bet he’s already hard from me _mentioning_ it.” 

“As it stands, I think I may have to gag you before I bed you.” Marik glared at Bakura.

“See how kinky he is?” Bakura asked with feigned shock. 

Atem laughed at Bakura’s act. “Weren’t you the one sighing and talking about how softly Marik kissed the first night we were together?” 

“Gods, Atem, don’t _tell him that_. You just doubled his ego and he’ll be even more insufferable now.” 

“Oh? You remember that little kiss, do you?” Marik smiled. 

In truth, he did as well. That moment had a great deal to do with why he was in Japan. That and the way Bakura had lost himself to the Shadows in order to help Marik against his alter. 

“It was my first kiss,” Bakura confessed. “Of course I remember it.” 

“Honestly? It was mine, too,” Marik whispered back at Bakura. Then he glanced at Atem. “And this is my second.”

He leaned in, ghosting his lips across Atem’s and shocked at the realization that he really did _want_ the kiss, more than he’d openly admit. Atem moaned through the exchange. His eyelashes fluttered before he opened his fuchsia eyes. 

“Bakura’s right. Your kisses are soft.” 

“Um, thanks.” Marik grinned, feeling giddy and ridiculous both at once. 

For being the one that had lofty seduction goals several hours prior, Marik was nervous. It was Atem that started caressing Marik’s arms and getting things started as he kneaded his lips against Marik’s throat. Atem ran his fingertips up and down Marik’s inner thigh, and drew a wanting breath from between Marik's lips. Marik glanced at Bakura who knelt next to them and chewed on a finger nail as he watched. He was so enthralled at the sight of them, that Marik was rather sure that Bakura forgot he was suppose to be participating. 

“Bakura,” Marik whispered to pull Bakura back into the moment. 

“Um, there’s lube in the bedroom,” Bakura toyed with the hem of his shirt as he said it. 

“Will you go get it?” Marik asked.

Bakura nodded and returned with a bottle of lube and a few towels. He lay down a towel, and urged Atem to move to it before kissing his flat, brown belly a few times and looking up at Marik. 

“Um, uh, i-if you-” Bakura scratched the back of his head, his nerves shot as he stumbled through his sentence, “-let me get started with Atem- uh, then when I'm relaxed, I-I think I could take both of you at once.” 

“O-okay.” Marik’s eye widened at the thought. 

He’d seen double penetration in porn, but he never thought he’d be _doing_ it. Especially his first time. Then again, he wasn’t sure how else they should try sex all at once, and the thought of being inside Bakura… Marik licked his lips as he watched Bakura undress. 

Bakura sat in reverse cowboy, frotting against Atem’s hardening cock. Bakura’s nervousness eased Marik’s, and he tried to further relax by enjoying the sight of Bakura’s dark brown skin and Atem’s creamier brown skin. 

“It’s a nice view,” Atem teased as Bakura rocked his hips. 

“I didn’t think you’d complain.” Bakura glanced over his shoulder and smiled. He looked around. “What’d you do with the lube, Atem?”

“Me? You had it last.”

“No I didn’t. You topped last night, too.”

“Bakura, you just fetched it from the bedroom- five seconds ago!”

“Damn, I did.” Bakura laughed too loudly and continued to look around, his expression sheepish. “Marik, will you check under that fat, red cushion with the gold tassels?” 

Marik turned and saw the pillow. Beneath it was a large bottle only halfway full, and Marik’s stomach twisted as he tried to guess how much sex would use up half a bottle. He passed the bottle on to Bakura, who left his fingers lapping over Marik’s hand as he grinned. 

“Well? Give us a strip tease while I get warmed up, Marik.” 

Marik grinned, enjoying the excited look on Bakura’s face, but then frowning himself. 

“C-could I leave my shirt on?”

“Of course,” Bakura said without hesitation. 

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Atem agreed, although he was already breathy from Bakura rubbing against him. 

“Thanks.” Marik exhaled in relief. “I… I appreciate it.”

He’d been so distracted with the new and improved expressive version of Bakura, and how easily he identified with Atem through their derealization experiences, that Marik never considered that they’d be _naked_ during sex, and he couldn’t bare the thought of showing his scars to the Pharaoh again. Perhaps another night, but as it was, he didn’t want the added anxiety of his scars ruining the experience. 

Marik wore another sleeveless hoodie, white instead of lavender, with diamond-encrusted buttons. Marik unfastened each button, standing where Bakura and Atem could both watch. He opened up the shirt so they could see his chest, but left it on to protect his back. He pulled his belt away, and shifted out of his pants. They watched him with rapt attention and bated breath. 

Bakura’s rolling hips slowed as he stared at Marik and forgot to move. Marik drank in the attention. He loved being watched. He loved the lost, wanton look in their eyes. It emboldened him, and Marik knelt down besides Bakura, taking the lube back and anointing Bakura and Atem’s cocks because Bakura had forgotten all about the bottle in his hand. Bakura swiped the bottle back and poured extra on Atem’s cock. 

“Bakura’s it’s cold!” Atem whined. 

“Is it?” Bakura chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s about to get hot.” 

He lifted up and perched at the tip of Atem’s cock. Bakura took deep breaths and eased down just enough for the tip to nudge into his asshole without actually penetrating. After a moment, Bakura sank low, groaning the entire way down. The sound made Marik’s guts twist in desire. He felt like he could come from just _listening_ to Bakura. 

“ _Ah_! Tight!” Atem called out as he gripped a different pillow on each side of him. 

Bakura had a wicked grin. His ass cheeks tightened as he gave Atem’s cock a squeeze. Marik grinned with Bakura at the whimper that escaped from Atem. 

“Should I move?” Bakura asked in a taunting, silky voice. 

“Yes!”

“Hmmm… what’s the magic word?”

“Please, Bakura!” 

“Those are two words.” Marik winked. 

“You’re right. Atem? That was two words.” 

“Stop acting like you give a damn about numbers, and fuck me!” Atem ordered.

Marik was sure that commanding voice would be inspiring on the battlefield, but in the bedroom (or living room) Atem's order was endearing instead of awe-inspiring. 

“Well, I suppose,” Bakura sang as he circled his hips around. “That tonight, two is the right number.” He looked at Marik as he said it. 

Marik dared to reach out and run his fingers down Bakura’s chest with his right hand, using his left to stroke Atem’s thigh. Bakura rolled up and sank down like a beautiful desert snake.

Using Atem as a booster seat actually brought Bakura up to eye level with Marik. They looked at each other, and then Marik was tasting Bakura's lips. Bakura sucked in a sharp, needful breath through his nostrils as they kissed. Marik could feel him shuddering as he continued to circle up and down.

“I-I think I'm ready,” Bakura gasped. “Atem?” 

Atem answered with an aroused grunt. Bakura’s nose scrunched up in a honest grin and Marik almost lost it. It was the most attractive thing he's ever seen and he kissed along Bakura's shoulder to hide his own expression because he was afraid it was a little too lovestruck to reveal.

Bakura stood up long enough to resituate to regular cowboy. He shifted forward, closer to Atem, which gave Marik better access to his already stuffed asshole. Marik watched the way Atem's cock shifted in and out. He swallowed, excited but with butterflies in his stomach. Marik decided to stall by kissing up Bakura's back. 

“Use more lube than you think you should, okay?” Bakura asked over his shoulder.

“Okay. I'll try not to make a mess.” Marik grabbed the bottle and used another towel to keep from dripping over the cushions.

“Make a mess!” Bakura tried to laugh, but he was clearly more nervous than even Marik. “J-just hurry.” 

Marik realized that stalling was making the tension worse for Bakura. He drenched his cock with lube, and drizzled some down Bakura's crack in order to make sure his asshole was also drenched. Bakura gave an appreciative moan that eased Marik's nerves somewhat.

Marik could hardly hold his overly-slick cock as he scooted closer and lined up. His first push was experimental and unsuccessful. He didn't want to hurt Bakura, but knew stalling was worse, so the second time he shoved in until he felt Bakura's body open up and accept Marik's width.

Bakura squeaked and curled closer to Atem. Marik could only see Bakura's back and white hair, so he couldn't tell if the noise was from pleasure or pain.

“You okay?” Atem asked.

“Gods, oh gods,” Bakura gasped, breathless. 

Marik started to thrust, and Bakura screamed and dug his nails into Atem’s biceps. Atem’s eyes were huge as he watched, mesmerized by Bakura. He started to buck upwards, alternating his rhythm with Marik’s, and Bakura wailed in wordless, uncontrolled vowels of sound. Marik held onto Bakura’s hips, He grit his teeth as his pleasure spiralled out of his control. 

“I can’t… I-” Marik couldn’t finish his sentence. 

He wanted to last longer. They only been going for a few minutes, but he could already feel himself unravel as his orgasm tightened every muscle in his body. It didn’t help that Bakura was clenching around Marik’s and Atem’s cocks. Marik choked on a cry of pleasure as he came despite trying to hold out. At almost the same time, Bakura jerked up, quiet, holding his breath, all his screams and moans lost as he shuddered and splattered come all over Atem’s smooth belly. Bakura fell forward, and Marik had to catch him. 

“Hey, you okay?” Marik whispered. 

“Exhausted. Can’t hardly move,” Bakura muttered. “Atem, let me roll over.”

Atem nodded, and Marik helped Bakura onto his back while Atem wiped up with a towel. Atem slipped back inside and started moving, and Bakura lay with his legs spread and his arms crossed over his head. Now that Bakura lay on his back, Marik could see his flushed face, and the way his brow wrinkled in pleasure when Atem hit a good spot, and loved the sight of it. 

Marik ran his fingers up Atem’s back. Bakura’s skin had scars like Marik’s, and that was a comfort, but Atem’s skin was smooth as glass. Marik continued to touch Atem’s flawless skin, fascinated and intimidated by its perfection.

He didn’t know what else to do, so he continued to explore Atem’s body as Atem pounded into Bakura. Marik felt Atem shift and tremble beneath his fingertips, so he figured he was doing something right, and added a few tentative kisses to the nape of Atem’s neck. Bakura writhed, his former screams now satisfied little coos and hums. Marik reached out and touched him as well, tracing a pit of scar on his ribs that looked like it might have come from a sword wound. 

“Bakura!” Atem shouted, and Bakura threw his head back in laughter. 

“Next say, _draw_!” 

Bakura continued to laugh, and Marik laughed with him, but Atem growled and shoved one of the pillows over Bakura’s face. 

“If I wasn’t… about to come… I’d strangle you.” Atem rammed harder, going at Bakura so hard that Marik had to back away. 

Marik pulled the pillow off of Bakura’s face. Bakura greeted him with a grin. He looked proud that he could still fluster the Pharaoh. Marik leaned down and kissed him. The force of Atem’s thrusts, and the gentleness of Marik’s lips made Bakura moan. Atem mumbled curses, and after he finished, pulled out so he could place three rough bites into Bakura’s inner thighs. Bakura hitched and grinned so broadly that it broke his kiss with Marik. 

“I can already tell you two are going to be impossible to live with.” Marik laughed. 


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn’t an easy decision. Atem knew Marik wouldn’t like it, but Atem was determined. He hated his skin. He hated his skin. Every day he caught a glimpse of the smooth, unblemished surface, he hated it a little more. It reminded him that he was a Pharaoh, and it reminded him that he’d been sheltered when too many people around him had suffered. Atem tried scraping his nails up his thighs, trying to mark the skin, but no matter how hard he scratched, the little score marks always faded, and he was left with the same smooth flawless skin as before.

And that’s when the idea came to him. His own sort of initiation, carrying their memories with him. Kul Elna, the Tomb Keepers, they deserved their stories to be carried by the very lineage that caused their sorrows. It was a way to balance the scales between them, and Atem realized that it was something he _needed_. Words would never be enough. He needed action, but when he was on the table in the game room, it was Bakura that didn’t want to go through with it.

“Look, I’m not a tomb-keeper, so I don’t really have the skills.” Bakura toyed with his knife, refusing to look at Atem.

“It’s you or a thug I hire off of the street, Bakura. Choose.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.” Atem looked up, catching Bakura’s gaze so that he knew Atem was serious.

“Atem, I don’t want to do this,” Bakura said outright.

“I know.” A soft smile warmed Atem’s face. “Isn’t it funny? You would have loved the irony before.”

“Guess there’s some things I love more than irony now.”

Atem’s breath caught in his throat, but never once did he consider backing down.

“Bakura, help me,” Atem pleaded. “Don’t make me do this alone. Be on my side this one time.”

Bakura closed his eyes and sighed. He gave a dry sniff and then stuck his knife in a brazier they’d prepared. Atem placed the bit in his mouth, and held the edge of the table, and waited for that first sting against his flesh. Atem swallowed a yelp when the searing knife kissed his flesh. His skin hissed as the heat burned through to his nerves, and then the cutting began and the smell of blood and burnt flesh turned Atem’s stomach.

He thought he could be strong. He thought he could take any physical pain required, and at first it seemed true. The pain was wicked, but Atem knew he could _endure_. However, as Bakura continued writing down the left side of Atem’s back, the pain flared up from a wicked hurt to sheer agony. The longer the open cuts sat, the more they burned until Atem felt like his entire body was on fire.

Bakura paused to lay linen strips on Atem’s back. Each strip was soaked through with lemon juice and salt water, and the acid and salt made the cuts feel like they were melting through Atem instead of sitting on the surface of his back. He panted through his nose, teeth grinding at the bit in his mouth and tears rushing down his cheeks. Atem kept thinking _Marik endured this, Marik endured this, Marik endured this and he was a child, dammit a Pharaoh should be at least as strong as a child._ But by the time Bakura started on the second column, Atem forgot all about Marik, he forgot everything except the pain he felt all over.

_Is it over yet? Is it almost over? Can this please be over? I just have to make it to the end. How much longer? Can I last another five minutes? Surely it’s almost over? Just a little longer. And a little longer. And a little longer…_

Suddenly Bakura was pulling the bit from Atem’s mouth and kissing Atem’s face. His lips felt cool against Atem’s fevered skin.

“Shhh, shhhh, it’s over. It’s over now. You did good, and- I’m never cutting you again, do you understand? _Never. Never._ I hope this helps give you peace because I will never fucking forgive myself if-”

“Bakura,” Atem rasped. “Thank you.”

“How do you feel?” Bakura continued to kiss Atem’s forehead, and stroke his hair, and fuss over him in any way he could.

“Like I’m being burned alive,” Atem confessed. “But I’ll survive.”

“Rest here.” Bakura kissed Atem’s forehead, and kissed his cheeks, and kissed the shell of his ear. “I’m going to clean up… the mess, so Marik doesn’t see. Then we’ll try to move you somewhere comfortable.”

Atem gave a weak nod. He focused on breathing, but kept weeping because of how much it still burned. Bakura shuffled around, disposing of bloody bandages, wiping the blood off of Atem’s skin and the table. He went to the bathroom to clean his knife when Atem heard Marik’s voice. Then he heard Marik screaming _why_ over and over again. Bakura’s voice was low and steady as he explained, but then Marik was crying, and that made Atem’s own tears stop.

“Marik,” Atem called from the game room.

Marik appeared, kneeling down in front of Atem and running his fingers through Atem’s hair.

“You don’t have to do this. We’re going to get you to a hospital, and have them see if there’s anything the doctors can-”

“Please, Marik, no,” Atem begged. “I’m sorry. Bakura said I should ask you first, but I had to. I had to.”

“No, no you don’t. It doesn’t help anything you fucking idiot.”

“It will help me sleep at night.”

“It’s not fair.” Marik cried and Bakura held him.

“For you. It wasn’t fair for you,” Atem said, and now that he’d been through a scarification ritual of his own, he meant what he said more than he ever had before.

“I’m fine!” Marik screamed.

“Then why won’t you look at me in bed?” Atem asked.

“What?”

“In bed, you never…” Atem lowered his gaze. “You look at Bakura, but you always make sure I’m turned away.”

“Atem,” Marik sighed, and Atem saw realization wash over Marik’s expression. “You idiot. You’re both idiots. We’re all idiots.” Marik jumped to his feet, covering his mouth. “I’m sorry- I can’t stand the lemon smell.” He ran out of the room.

“Bakura, go after him.” Atem tried to push up on his arms, but couldn’t.

“I should probably keep an eye on you.” Bakura stared out the doorway.

“I’m fine. Go, please, I can’t stand yet or I’d go myself.”

Bakura nodded and disappeared. Atem exhaled and allowed the agony to throb throughout his body.

The following weeks were a blur of bandages and agitating the wounds to make sure they scarred properly. Perhaps the worst part of the process was how his skin itched as it healed. Atem would trade his kingdom to be able to scratch beneath the bandages, but Marik and Bakura held his hands or forbid it.

Marik forgave Atem, and Atem didn’t regret his decision until the morning he went looking for Bakura and caught him moments before Bakura could impale his hand against a castle spire from one of their game sets.

“Bakura! What are you doing?” Atem dashed into the room and grabbed Bakura’s wrist to keep him from hurting himself.

“Atoning,” Bakura said in a calm, steady voice.

“Bakura, don’t.”

“Why not? How is this different from what you did?”

Atem’s mouth dropped open, realizing that he’d set a dangerous precedent. Atem brought Bakura’s hand up to his lips and kissed the palm. He kissed every centimeter, down to the wrist and back up to the center.

“I know I’m a selfish hypocrite, but please don’t.”

“Fuck you, Atem.”

Before Atem could retort, something shattered against the wall. They jerked at the noise and then towards the door where Marik stood.

“If I see another scar on _either_ _one of you_ I will ride my bike into the wrong side of traffic!”

They ran after him, and after an hour of screaming, Bakura promised not to hurt himself, and Marik promised the same, and Atem felt guilty because the argument was ultimately his fault. It seemed so right, at the time. Carrying their memories seemed like the perfect retribution to give them both, but it wasn’t until his heart had skipped a beat at the thought of Bakura being hurt that Atem realized that damaging himself wasn’t a good way to ameliorate Marik and Bakura’s suffering. In a way, all he’d done was hurt them more, and he was going to have to live with that knowledge, and find a better way to make it up to them.

Things remained tense between the three of them for the rest of the week. That weekend Atem decided to make chai, hoping they could all sit around, and drink tea, and talk like they did when they were all in a good mood. Bakura appeared, grinning and naked and distracting Atem before he could finish mixing their tea.

“Don’t give me that look. The tea will get cold,” Atem said, although his heart was already faint as he eyed Bakura’s scrappy, naked body.

“Not my problem.” Bakura scooped Atem up in his arms and carried him out of the kitchen.

“What the hell, Bakura?”

“Marik wants you in the bedroom. He said now.”

In their bedroom, Marik knelt on the bed. He held onto the headboard, his back exposed for both Atem and Bakura to see. Marik glanced over his shoulder; the gold at his throat flashed in the bedroom light.

“Strip,” Marik said.

Bakura set Atem down and helped Atem out of his clothes. Atem’s face flushed, understanding how it must have felt for Marik, that first time when he asked to keep his shirt on. Atem himself was still self-conscious about his own back. The scars were new, angry, and red, although they were set scars now and no longer open wounds.

“Come here,” Marik commanded, and Atem, a former king, obeyed.

He crawled onto the futon and went to Marik, at least as close as he dared get. Marik reached back until he found Atem’s hand and pulled Atem’s arm until it was wrapped around Marik’s body.

“It’s okay,” Marik said. “Get as close as you’d like.”

Atem inched forward until his chest pressed against Marik’s mangled back. He wrapped his other arm around Marik as well and rested his head against Marik’s shoulder blade. Marik relaxed in Atem’s hold, leaning into Atem’s embrace and giving an affectionate coo. Bakura slipped behind Atem and held him just as he held Marik. Atem’s eyes fluttered shut and he allowed the heat from Marik’s and Bakura’s bodies to soak into his own skin.

“No more pain, okay?” Marik said in a low, sincere voice. “We’ve had enough. We’ve _all_ had enough. There’s no use measuring it, or trying to balance the scales with more pain. From now on-”

“-We atone like this.” Bakura kissed the nape of Atem’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “Remember that first night? When you kissed all my scars? Like you could somehow kiss them better?” Bakura chuckled travelling down Atem’s neck and to his own freshly-carved scars. “I thought you were so stupid for it, but when I look back at that night, maybe you did heal something inside of me.”

Atem sniffed, a few tears trickled down his cheek. He _had_ wanted to kiss each wound better. That’s why he made sure he had kissed every single scar. He _had_ wanted to heal any amount of the hurt that had shredded Bakura’s soul. But no matter how badly he wanted to, he never imagined that he actually _could_.

“So from now on,” Marik whispered as Bakura continued kissing down Atem’s back. “We’re going to forgive each other- and ourselves.”

Atem sniffed again, and nodded, and placed a quivering kiss in the center of Marik’s sun disk. He followed Bakura’s example and graced his lips across every cut in Marik’s back. When he reached the last of the hieratic, Marik turned and pressed Atem down into the mattress. Marik hovered just above Atem, looking down at his face.

“So… someone wanted to make love face-to-face?” Marik smirked and nudged his cock against Atem’s asshole.

Atem gasped. All he could do was nod, too overwhelmed and excited to speak. Bakura grabbed the lube and put some in his hand before passing it forward to Marik. While Bakura prepped Marik, Marik prepped Atem, and then the three of them were linked up like a chain and moving inside each other. Atem gasped, unable to take his eyes away from Marik. The way his hair shined, and his earrings flashed, and how his kohl wrinkled when Marik shut his eyes and scrunched up his face in pleasure.

Atem couldn’t see Bakura, but he could hear Bakura’s soft moans, and feel the way his thrusts added to Marik’s. Atem drew his right leg up, finding Bakura’s calf and caressing it with his toe. He reached out with his left hand and traced all the muscles on Marik’s chest. The continuous rocking motions of their bodies lulled Atem into a relaxed, almost hypnotic calm. It wasn’t the frightening, dizzying spin away from reality that he hated, this was as if Atem was settling into his body, enjoying the moment, enjoying the way Bakura’s skin felt below his toes and how Marik’s girth felt inside of him.

All three of them groaned, and called out as their euphoria built up inside each of them. Atem’s hand slid down his sweat-kissed stomach and he teased his fingers up and down his shaft, not quite yet ready to come, but getting close. Bakura called out Marik’s name, so Atem did as well, knowing Marik loved when he was the center of attention, and he was indeed the center of their attention at that moment.

Marik’s eyes opened; light flashed off of his lavender irises. A rush of heat and bliss overwhelmed Atem as their gazes caught. His hand wrapped around his cock and he started stroking so he could come with Marik still inside him. He called out Marik’s name again, and this time Bakura echoed the word. Marik’s face wrinkled in passion, his orgasm too close for him to monitor his expression. Atem smirked, and pinched Marik’s nipple, and bucked into each thrust as his own cock pulsed in his hand.

Atem started to scream. His eyes shut as the intensity of his orgasm consumed him wholly, going on and on and on. The mattress embraced his body when he relaxed. The sweat and sheets made his scars itch, but he was too spent and sated to move, and he still wanted to look up at Marik’s face. Marik was calling out to both Atem and Bakura, slamming his hips forward and backward for all he was worth until he froze, and rode out his orgasm with Bakura still bucking behind him.

Bakura picked up pace after Marik came, cursing the gods while praising Marik and Atem as he finally roared with his own orgasm. Bakura slipped out of Marik, and Marik pulled Atem onto his side, laying so that they stayed face-to-face.

“It’s a little better sideways, right?”

Atem nodded. He watched Bakura fall behind Marik and sling his dark brown arm across Marik’s waist. Atem laced his fingers with Bakura’s, and Bakura used his thumb to rub back and forth against Atem’s hand.

“Is this what you wanted? Does this make it right?” Marik asked. “It’s true, that I was insecure about my back, but I never meant to make you feel so bad that you’d…”

“I’m sorry, Marik. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, Bakura, I shouldn’t have asked you to help.” Atem shook his head.

Bakura squeezed Atem’s fingers. Marik kissed Atem’s forehead. “Don’t dwell on it, okay? You can think about the past, but from now on if you feel bad, talk to us, okay?”

“Words seem so stupid.”

“Words are stupid.” Bakura peeked up from behind Marik’s back. “But it’s probably better to say something stupid than to do something stupid.”

Marik chuckled. “It only took him three thousand years to figure that out.”

“I’m trying to be supportive over here!” Bakura gave a playful shout over Marik’s shoulder.

Atem laughed, at both of them. After a few minutes, his laughter faded, and his fingers drew nervous patterns along Marik’s chest.

“If I invite them over, will you really play games with all of us?” Atem asked Bakura.

“What does Yugi like to eat?” Bakura asked.

“Uh, hamburgers, usually?” Atem laughed again. “I got sick of them when we shared a body.”

“Finally! Someone that likes meat!” Bakura mock cheered. “If he comes over, I’ll cook hamburgers.”

“Fuck hamburgers.” Marik snorted. “I’ll make pita stuffed falafel sandwiches for us, Atem.”

“Just don’t get in my damn way.” Bakura pinched Marik’s ass, and Marik kicked at Bakura’s legs with his heel before they both laughed.

Atem watched them, the grin huge on his face. They planned dinner, and dessert for Ryou, and decided to play Monster World because they had enough people for a decent game. Atem fell asleep listening to Marik and Bakura bicker about buying a table to eat at- Marik wanted one, but Bakura refused.

Atem slept through the night. He didn’t wake up until he felt warm hands kneading into his sore back. A wonderful scent drifted in the air, and Atem cooed as he woke up.

“Is that lavender?”

“Yes. It’s good for the skin and reduces scarring… I’ve been using it on mine, too.”

“Your hands feel good,” Atem murmured, still drowsy, but waking bit by bit as Marik rubbed circles along his spine.

“Hurts more than you thought, doesn’t it?” Marik continued to ease his way down Atem’s back. “You knew it’d hurt at first, but now that they’re healed you’re surprised at how much it still hurts.”

“Yes… but I don’t regret it because of the pain. I'm only sad that I accidently hurt both of you.”

“I understand your intentions were good, and hell, I think you’ve manage to pull quite a deal of respect out of Bakura. He defended you afterward even when I was angry, even when he was crying because he felt bad for doing it.”

“I’ll have to find a way to apologize. Something nice. He deserves something nice.”

“Yeah.” Atem could hear the smile in Marik’s voice. “He does.”

“You do too.” Atem shifted up. “Want to switch?”

“I’m not going to turn down a backrub from a king.” Marik winked and then stretched out on his stomach.

Atem poured the lavender oil into his palms and warmed it in his hands. He slowly coated Marik’s back, rolling his palms up and down. He lost himself in the act, enjoying the feel of Marik’s skin beneath his fingertips. Atem gasped and shuddered when he felt the soft press of lips against his back as he rubbed Marik's.

“Bakura! I didn’t hear you enter the room at all.” Atem moaned as Bakura kissed him again.

“What kind of thief would I be had you heard me?”

Bakura continued to kiss down Atem’s back for a moment longer. Then he added more oil and started to knead Atem’s shoulders.

“We’ll do you next,” Atem offered.

“Yes I certainly hope you will… _do me_ ,” Bakura purred.

“I’m still sticky from last night.” Atem blushed, but his passions had already been evoked. The firm press of Bakura’s hands had Atem wanting more, and more, and more, and more, and more.

“And now you’re covered in oil, too. No use wasting water on a shower until we’re done again.” Bakura nipped Atem’s neck as his hands traveled down his spine.

“Mmmm… I think Bakura has a point.” Marik bowed his back and squirmed at Atem’s touch.

Atem spread his fingers out, worked the oil deeper into Marik’s skin, and enjoyed the soft hums Marik made to show that he enjoyed the massage. Bakura had forgotten about the massage, he was too focused on nipping the side of Atem’s neck and using his oiled hands to torment Atem’s throbbing-hard shaft.

Atem tried to focus, but his hands became needy and grabbed at Marik’s back instead of pressing into it. Marik didn’t seem to mind. He hitched back and moaned at Atem’s clumsy handiwork.

“B-Bakura, I’m going to come if you keep touching me like that.”

“That’s entirely the point of touching you.” Bakura chuckled in Atem’s ear before sucking on Atem’s earlobe.

He was clutching to Marik for support more than massaging him now. The slick feeling of the oil made each stroke of Bakura’s hand feel amazing. The moment Atem threw his head back in order to better succumb to his own orgasm, Bakura pulled away.

“Bakura! Why do you always tease me like this!”

“Because it’s fun.” Bakura sat beside Marik, pulling Atem into his lap and impaling Atem onto his already-lubed cock. “And because Marik told me to get you into a position to where he could kiss your back.”

Atem screamed when he felt the sudden thrust of Bakura inside him. He grabbed Bakura’s shoulders and called out as Bakura helped Atem circle his hips. He felt Marik kissing along the borders of his scars.

“It’s only fair, right? After all, you got to kiss mine last night.”

“Marik! Please! Touch me!” Atem called out, his climax just out of reach.

“Not until I’m done kissing you.” Marik ran his fingers up and down Atem’s inner thighs as he kissed his back.

Never before in his life had Atem savored a moment so fully as he did that one.

* * *

 

“I told you not to get in my way.” Bakura growled as he stuck the thermometer into a burger on the edge of his skillet.

“You’re taking up the entire kitchen. It’s a dead cow, how hard can it be to cook?” They both heard the knock at the door. “Bakura, go answer the door. That’s probably them.”

“You go answer the door.”

“I’m busy,” Marik snapped. “Besides, I didn’t get two boyfriends to have to do menial tasks like answering the door.”

“Well Atem had better get the door then, because I need to make sure these are medium rare before I set them aside to rest- I’m not eating overcooked meat, dammit.”

“I’m already getting the door,” Atem called into the kitchen. “You can stop bickering now.”

“I refuse to ever stop bickering with Marik Ishtar!” Bakura called back.

Bakura pulled the burgers away from the heat, setting them on a plate to finish cooking. Ryou came snooping into the kitchen, and Bakura tapped the door of the refridgerator with his toe.

“What you’re looking for is in there.”

Ryou raised a snowy eyebrow in order to silently question Bakura. He glanced at the fridge as if it might be trapped, but once he opened it, his eyes grew wide as he pulled out a plate of cream puffs.

“These are my favorite.” Ryou grinned, shoving one in his mouth right away.

“I know. I remember.”

“You remember?” Ryou asked with a full mouth.

“Uh, yeah.” Bakura drew a circle on his chest right where the Ring used to sit.

Ryou rolled his eyes. “I mean, I know _how_. I’m just surprised you ever paid attention to things like that.”

Bakura decided to slice through a tomato in order to avoid more conversation.

“Not to sound ungrateful,” Ryou added in a rush. “These are amazing! I appreciate you making them.”

“Okay, but the real question- are you going to eat burgers with the savages? Or are you going to eat _my much more delicious food_ with the civilized people?” Marik asked as he whisked together a dressing for the greens.

“I love all food.” Ryou laughed. “I’m going to eat both!”

“Show some restraint, Ryou.” Yugi laughed as he and Atem crowded into the kitchen with the others. “They won’t invite us back if you eat them out of house and home during our first visit.”

“Don’t worry, next time they can all come over and eat all our food.” Ryou turned to Bakura. “What kind of desserts do you like, Bakura?”

“I don’t know? My mother used to give me dates as a treat.”

Bakura could tell he had said something wrong by the way Ryou’s face fell, but he wasn’t sure what he’d said. Or perhaps it was the thought of Bakura with a mother that made Ryou turn so thoughtful. In either case, he was relieved when Atem came to his rescue.

“There was a cake, with honey and dates, I bet Bakura would love it.” Atem scratched the back of this head. “I have no idea how to make it, though.”

“I’ll get Ishizu’s recipe for Namoura,” Marik said. “I bet you can modify it into something close.”

“Thank you, Marik. I love trying new recipes!” Ryou shoved another cream puff into his mouth before setting them aside before he could eat them all.

“Will you guys really come over next week?” Yugi asked with an excited grin. “I was so excited when Atem invited us over. You really should let us return the hospitality.”

“Sure,” Marik said.

“I’ll have to check my schedule, but I’ll see if I can pencil it in.” Bakura said, smirking.

“Oh? Is that why you’ve been ditching us?” Yugi laughed. “I thought you were just avoiding us!”

“Honestly?” Bakura shrugged. “I needed time to figure some stuff out.”

“And?” Yugi asked. “Did you have any luck?”

“Yeah…” Bakura’s gaze went to Marik and Atem as they tasted the sauce Marik had made for their sandwiches. Bakura gave them both a warm smile before answering, “I think I’m good now.”


End file.
